7) The Mystery of M and M
by The Hummingbird Tales
Summary: Sherlock Holmes requires an assistant to help him solve a difficult case, and Clara steps in. A strange shout, a few odd symbols and a rather confuzzling conundrum are only a few of her worries. What's more, The Hummingbird discovers that Moriarty faked his own death and also finds herself in an awkward love triangle. But WHO are 'M and M? (Oslock and Whouffaldi. Reviews please!)
1. Chapter 1 - Return to Baker Street

Chapter 1

Rivers, lakes and seas always seemed to appear in rather providential places, especially when you're falling from a considerable height, as The Hummingbird was realising, floating along the Leeds Liverpool Canal.

It was a rather warm day and, even though she was glad of the cool water, she was really trying to climb out because her best coat was getting wet and she had a sonic screwdriver in her pocket that probably didn't function well when damp.

She dragged herself onto land and took her coat off to wring it out and empty her pockets. Picking up the little black box she'd been storing in her left pocket, she smiled, but then the smile faded to a slight air of sadness. It was the sad smile, as The Doctor would call it: sad but happy at the same time, like she was malfunctioning.

Looking about around her, Clara saw that she was in the middle of a field… in the middle of nowhere.

Which was good, as she had her wings uncovered and now there was nobody around to see her. So she opened the box, took out her new ring and slipped it onto her finger. It was a bit big for her spindly fingers, but it wasn't so outsized that it would fall off. She lay on her back and breathed in a lungful of fresh, country air, admiring the abnormally blue and cloudless sky.

She suspected she must have zoned out, as the next thing she heard was her phone ringing out the theme tune from BBC's Sherlock. Smiling – because she'd set that tone for somebody in particular – Clara picked up her phone and clicked the answer button before turning her microphone onto hands free and clearing her throat,

"Afternoon, Mr Holmes!" She grinned to herself.

"It's 11:58," Sherlock replied, blankly, "It's still morning."

"Whatever you say, Sherl – what can I do for you?"

"John has the flu," Sherlock answered, sounding slightly nervous, "And I was wondering if you'd give me a hand? You seem the only other person with any sense who I can contact…"

"Oh, gladly!" Clara chirped, "I'll be right up!" And she hung up before stretching and yawning,

"Just… five more minutes…"

* * *

"Afternoon, Mrs Hudson!" Clara called, closing the door to 221 Baker Street and checking that it was actually afternoon this time. She stood in the hallway with her hat drawn half way down her face and her scarf wrapped around her neck and over her shoulder.

Mrs Hudson didn't know whom the voice belonged to at first, so she ambled into the hall to see her,

"And you are..?" She enquired.

"Clara Oswald: one of Sherlock's friends," Clara replied.

"I didn't think Sherlock _had_ friends…"

"Well, he does now, apparently… I know, it came as a shock to me, too."

"You know, there was somebody who came around here only a few months back. She dressed and spoke exactly like you, but she died, so-"

"No, I didn't!" Clara huffed, folding her arms.

Mrs Hudson looked taken aback and slightly bewildered,

"You mean to say you're..?"

"The Hummingbird? Yes, indeed."

"But you're-"

"Yes, I know: I faked my own death, blah blah blah- _boring."_

"But the… and the _wings!"_

"Genetic mutation… thingamajig…"

"But-"

"Never you mind…." Clara smirked, and she disappeared upstairs.

* * *

Sherlock was _bored_.

It was _boring_ without John to chatter away with about whatever he fancied chattering on about, so when he heard the knock at the door, his face lit up.

"Come in!" He called, but still didn't take his eyes off the blackboard in front of him.

Clara entered the room and tipped her hat toward Sherlock, shutting the door behind her.

Sherlock knew it was her and he was impressed that she'd gotten here so fast, seeing as he'd only called her a few minutes ago. He didn't only need her for help: she intrigued him. He wondered how she got around and what her story was… he wanted to find out about her and the only way to do this would be to sit her down and ask about her.

"I think I may have just given Mrs Hudson a heart attack…" Clara sniggered, hanging her hat on the hat stand beside her.

"What've you done?" Sherlock sighed, smiling.

"Well, for one, I existed…"

"Ah, she'll get over it. I told her that you were still alive when I brought you and your friends here the day we met, remember? But she didn't believe me, of course."

Clara shrugged, leaning on the back of the sofa that Sherlock was sat, cross-legged, on,

"What do you need me for, anyway?" She asked.

"Backing. Mystery. Murder."

"How many deaths?"

"Three, so far."

"Anything in common?"

"Ohhh, yes," Sherlock grinned, standing up and swivelling round to face her, "It's all very fascinating."

Clara smirked back, excitedly. She had helped Sherlock and John on one of their cases before, of course, and they had both been very impressed, but she hoped for something a bit less simple this time.

"Oh, do tell!" She chirped.

"Well, for starters, they all had exactly the same scars and wounds and they could only say one thing if we discovered them before death: 'He knew'."

"He knew? What's that supposed to mean?"

Sherlock shrugged and was about to say something when John's voice shouted from his bedroom,

"Sherlock?" He called, "Who are you talking to?"

"Ah, you remember The Hummingbird, yes? She's come to help us – I mean, me – solve this little ambiguity."

"Oh! Clara!" John piped up, "Can I see her?"

Just as Sherlock was going to refuse, Clara enthusiastically called back 'Yes, of course: I'll be right there!'

"Don't… catch anything," Sherlock warned as Clara turned away.

"Nah, course not – I don't catch flu."


	2. Chapter 2 - 221C

Chapter 2

"Hello, Clara: haven't seen you in a while – what've you been up to?" John asked with a smile.

"Ah, same old, same old…" Clara shrugged, kneeling down beside his bed and spreading her wings out for balance. They only just fit in the room, "I'm not spending as much time with The Doctor from now on, actually," she sighed, "I think I need a break… a very long break… anyhow, that's enough about me: how about you? Many extraordinary mysteries recently?"

"Not many… this one, though, has really gotten Sherlock excited. And I agree that it's tremendously odd…"John replied, his eyes fixated on The Hummingbird's feathers.

"Wonder what it could all mean..?" Clara hummed, standing up and shaking loose down off her wings. She wandered over to the bookshelf and took a Thesaurus in hopes of finding a more exciting word for 'mystery'.

The list went on and she was left none the worse and none the wiser,

"Confuzzling conundrums…" she smiled, "I think I ought to say that more often…"

John smiled, too, closing his eyes and laying his head back onto the pillow. Having a friend visit had cheered him up for two reasons: 1) hopefully, said friend could shut Sherlock up for a bit. And 2) he'd have somebody who wasn't a 'high-functioning sociopath' to talk to.

Clara replaced the book in such deep thought about who-knows-what that she didn't even hear Sherlock call her until John reached out and tapped her on the shoulder. Clara snapped into reality again and bounded into the living room, mouthing 'I'll see you later,' to John as she did.

"You called?" She purred to Sherlock.

"I was thinking…" Sherlock replied, "Obviously, you can't stay up here with us, but you _could_ stay in 221C: the basement flat. It's in a bit of a state, but I'm sure you could make it a bit more homely with time… as a temporary arrangement, Mrs Hudson might even rent it out to you for _free._ Just a thought."

"Worth a shot," Clara shrugged, gazing out of the window and seeing one lonely cloud floating about in its blue blanket of emptiness. It was actually quite depressing and made her think of her decision to leave The Doctor, and she frowned, "I should ask now, shouldn't I?" She coughed, eventually.

Sherlock nodded.

That was a shame: Clara had wanted to jump straight into the action, but that didn't seem to want to happen. Oh well, a place of her own didn't seem like a bad idea, she supposed – even if it _was_ a bit scruffy – and so she put her hat back on and opened the door to the hall.

Mrs Hudson had better give her this flat rent-free, as, of all the possible things to forget, she just had to forget her money.

* * *

The basement apartment was, as Sherlock had said, in a bit of a state.

Mrs Hudson clearly realised this, as she was trying her best to get Clara to stay elsewhere – anywhere elsewhere – but Clara, being Clara, had resisted her efforts none-the-less, though she was rather doubtful as to whether she should have…

At least it was free. Not many things are free these days (apart from those paper napkins at cafés that Clara always folded up into little origami flowers and left on the table with the vinegar bottle sat inside it, hoping that the waitress would notice her origami skills. But enough of that) and besides, it was probably best to be near Sherlock… and John, if he needed her, because she couldn't imagine Sherlock having very good bedside manner.

"Are you definitely sure you want to stay down here? It's a bit of a mess, I could find you somewhere else-" Mrs Hudson started, but The Hummingbird interjected with,

"Nah: it's fine, honest!"

"You're certain?"

"Absolutely! Thank you, Mrs Hudson, I shall be fine," Clara assured her, slightly awkwardly.

"Well, if you say so… I'll leave you be," Mrs Hudson shrugged, eventually, leaving Clara alone…

…In a cold flat…

…With a rather sad lack of central heating.

* * *

Clara checked her phone for the time, shivering as she curled up on the grubby couch.

It was 7:00 PM.

Funny – it felt later than that.

Scowling, disapprovingly, at the mould encompassing the skirting board, The Hummingbird opened up her contacts list in hopes of finding somebody to talk to.

But she was tired still from the day before, when she had battled Whisper, and couldn't stop herself from nodding off.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Strange Call

Chapter 3

The clock ticked its steady tune above the fireplace and Clara shivered in her sleep as the temperature dropped down to 2° Celsius.

The flat was chilly and, little did The Hummingbird know, the window was open and was letting in quite a draft. But she was asleep, so she didn't notice.

It had just turned 7AM and she was about to be awoken by a rather shrill and acute sound that was so unexpected that The Hummingbird snapped awake and tumbled off the side of the sofa.

Her heart racing, Clara poked her head round the curtain of the full-length window… she couldn't _see_ anything, but the sound still rung in the back of her mind. It had sounded like a child mixed with a mouse or something that was calling 'hey you!' in a rather strange, high-pitched, unidentifiable accent.

It certainly wasn't human.

After that, Clara couldn't sleep for fear of waking up missing multiple limbs, so she stayed sat up straight, in front of the window with her coat draped over her shoulders and her phone clutched in her hands.

The sun was slowly rising and Clara could just about hear footsteps hurrying down the stairs from 221B. Five seconds later and there came a desperate pounding at the door. Scrambling back to her feet, Clara hastily unlocked the door and saw Sherlock stood there with a mix of fright and excitement on his face.

"Did you hear that?" Sherlock exclaimed.

"You heard it, too?" Clara gasped, "I was beginning to think that I was just getting hallucinations…"

"No, I heard it, too – what do you think it could've been?" Sherlock continued with one large breath, looking strangely animated.

"Well, it certainly wasn't human, or anything near for that matter, but it sounded like some _thing_ screaming 'hey you' at the top of its voice…"

"I thought it sounded more like 'he knew'…"

Clara swallowed: Sherlock's opinion was almost certainly more accurate than hers, but that would mean that…

She didn't get to process this final thought, as at that moment, DI Lestrade flung open the door to 221 Baker Street and stood, looking rather flustered, at the top of the staircase to 221C.

"Sherlock…" he swallowed, "…There's been another murder…"


	4. Chapter 4 - Murder Scene

Chapter 4

The sun was rising and the sounds of busy London filled the air along with the sound of three hurried pairs of footsteps.

Lestrade, Sherlock and The Hummingbird were making their way to the murder scene, which just so happened to be only two streets away.

The wind blew a cold breeze that woke the still sleepy trio as they trooped down Baker Street.

Lestrade wasn't smiling, neither was Sherlock, but Clara was grinning like a Cheshire cat, ready to get to work at long last and anxious to solve the mystery of the strange murders.

The trio crossed the two streets and headed down Glentworth Street to the scene of the crime: an old house, home to an old lady. The rest of Lestrade's team were already present (including Anderson, unfortunately enough for Sherlock) and beginning to investigate.

"Exactly the same as all the others," Anderson said, "Same scars and same strange markings."

"What strange markings?" Clara asked. Sherlock hadn't mentioned anything about _markings…_

"Come and see…" Lestrade replied, leading The Hummingbird to where the poor victim of the murder still laid.

Beside the bleeding casualty, there were two markings, exactly identical, etched into the threadbare carpet in a rather messy manner.

Clara recognised these markings immediately.

"Gallifreyan…" she murmured.

"Pardon?" Came Lestrade's confused reply.

"Nothing, I-" Clara started, realising that Lestrade didn't yet know of her adventures through time and space, "…Ask Sherlock to come here, please," she finished in her most well-bred accent.

Lestrade did as instructed and fetched Sherlock from the other room. The Great Detective had been trying to ignore Anderson whilst investigating the marks where the door had been clawed at and broken, but was rather glad that Clara had called him: Anderson was getting on his nerves.

"Alien symbols!" Clara whisper-exclaimed to him when he entered the room.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"Positive!" Clara nodded, turning to trace her fingers over the marks on the carpet and mentally reciting her Gallifreyan alphabet until she found a letter that matched.

"So? What does it mean?"

"M," The Hummingbird breathed.

"Come again?" She heard Lestrade cough.

"They're both the letter M," Clara repeated, almost impatiently, looking up and seeing that a bit of a crowd had gathered around her: Sherlock, Lestrade and Anderson.

"Well, what language is it?" Anderson asked.

"Gallifreyan," Clara frowned.

"What?"

"Look, could you stop asking me questions, Anderson? I'm thinking…"

Anderson shut up.

"Now, the only other people who could possibly write this would be Rose Tyler, Martha Jones, The Doctor, or… or… No, no, never mind, it couldn't be, and even if it was… no, shut up, Hummingbird, you're rambling again… but it _would_ make sense…" Clara chattered to herself.

Lestrade would have asked what she was going to say, but he decided not to ask questions.

"They're all the same, on every case, maybe it's a signature or something," he said instead, "M for Moriarty?"

"Moriarty?" Clara repeated, confused.

"Yeah – ever since that sneak faked his death, we haven't been able to track him down since."

Clara frowned. She didn't remember Moriarty faking his death… but this was the alternate universe: maybe things were slightly different here and there was a chance that Moriarty could still be alive…

"But Moriarty doesn't like getting his hands dirty, does he? Wouldn't he send somebody else? And how would he know how to write Circular Gallifreyan?" She replied.

Sherlock didn't say anything: he just took her hand and dragged her out of the building.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Suspicious Figure

Chapter 5

"Where are we going?" Clara asked.

"London Gateway," Sherlock replied, expressionless, not even making eye contact.

"Why? What's going down at London Gate?"

"A few things…"

London Gateway was an extremely high-security shipping yard beside the Thames River. It was a rather dangerous place, with machinery everywhere that was constantly running, hence the security.

"What kind of things?"

Sherlock paused and stopped walking,

"I'll show you…"

And he called a taxi back to Baker Street.

* * *

As soon as they got through the door, Sherlock and Clara were met with Mrs Hudson looking rather confused,

"Where did you two get to?" She asked, flustered, "You just disappeared!"

"Where does Sherlock ever get to?" Clara sighed, heading up the stairs to 221B, "We were investigating."

Sherlock jogged up the stairs after her, leaving poor Mrs Hudson none the worse and none the wiser.

"We're back!" Clara called to John as she stepped through the door.

"Shame, really – I was enjoying the peace and quiet," John's voice came from the bedroom, "Anyway, have you found out much?"

"Oh yes, quite a bit, actually. We've found out that the symbols beside the bodies translate to the letter M. Sherlock says there's been some stuff happening at London Gateway and I think we're heading there next to have a snoop around," Clara replied.

John appeared in the doorway a few moments later, holding his laptop in his hands, looking intently at the screen,

"I heard…" he mumbled, "I've got the CCTV footage here, actually. Want to take a look?"

"Absolutely!" Clara chirped.

So John placed the computer on the table and pressed play on the video he had up.

The footage showed an abnormally tall… _thing…_ casually strolling into the shipping yard, back curved, and carrying in its hand what looked like a scythe. The figure was either wearing a huge, furry onesie, or was a hairy alien from outer space. And from experience, Clara was leaning more towards option two.

"Our murderer?" Clara suggested.

"May very well be. What do the aliens look like on Gallifrey?" Sherlock asked.

"Just like us… you wouldn't be able to tell one apart from a human. But still… it's _possible…_ "

"He goes in and out of the yard every time there's a murder," John added, "I think this is pretty suspicious, don't you?"

"Indeed…" Clara hummed.

"Well then, let's head over," Sherlock concluded, clasping his hands together and standing up straight, "Come on, Hummingbird."

And with that, both The Hummingbird and The Great Detective were gone.


	6. Chapter 6 - London Gateway

Chapter 6

London Gateway was a big place.

No, that's an understatement: it was an _enormous_ place, and it would be all too easy to get lost in there.

Unfortunately enough for Sherlock and Clara, they would have to go inside anyway, to take a look about and search for any evidence of their suspected murderer (who was actually still inside, as the CCTV operator hadn't shown him come out yet). It was certainly going to be dangerous, but Sherlock and The Hummingbird were both OK with that.

"I'm going to speak with the CCTV operator first," Sherlock said to his companion as they marched up to where the cameras had seen the figure, "You might want to stay out here and help out Lestrade."

Of course, Lestrade and his team were already there.

Sherlock and Clara trudged toward where Lestrade stood with Sally Donovan.

Sherlock frowned, why did _they_ have to be here, getting in the way?

"Oh, hello, Sherlock…" Lestrade coughed, awkwardly, sensing Mr Holmes' impatience, "We're just looking at some strange footprint-"

"Let me see," Sherlock ordered.

Lestrade begrudgingly obliged and told his team to step away as Sherlock kneeled down and squinted at the marks on the floor. They weren't _quite_ footprints…

"Why do we always have to stop working when he's around?" Anderson asked, annoyed, appearing next to Lestrade and Sally.

"He's _better_ than our team…" Lestrade replied, "And not only that, don't you know who that is with him?"

He was referring to Clara, who was currently standing back, the most emotionless expression on her face, her arms folded as she watched Sherlock inspect the 'footprints'.

"No, who?" Anderson asked.

"That's The Hummingbird. She could destroy all of us right this moment if she wanted to…" Lestrade whispered.

"You don't believe all that nonsense, do you?" Anderson laughed.

"How could you _not_ believe it? She's right there. Besides, Sherlock wouldn't fall for the tale if it wasn't true, but there she is."

"I say Sherlock's in on it."

"I've spoken to Sherlock: she's real and that's her."

"What's so special about her, anyway?" Sally asked.

"She seems to know everything about everyone – I suspect she's telepathic. She has wings, too, but she hides them under her coat: that _very coat_ she's wearing now, in fact."

Anderson scoffed – he didn't believe any of it – but just as he did so, Clara stepped in front of him and held out her hand,

"Heard your conversation about me," she said, smiling (it was an unnerving smile that Anderson felt very unsure about), "Thought I might as well say hello! Nice to meet you, Phillip."

Anderson shook her hand, gingerly, rather embarrassed.

"Are you staying here whilst I talk to the CCTV operator, then, Hummingbird?" Sherlock called.

"I'll stay here and give a helping hand, yeah," Clara replied, "See you in a bit," and then she turned to Lestrade, letting go of Anderson's hand, "Anything you need doing?"

"Not really," Lestrade replied, "Just stay here and have a chat with Donovan if you like. Come on, Anderson, get back to work."

Anderson followed Lestrade back to the footprints, still feeling a bit uncomfortable,

"How did she know my name? Did you tell her?" He asked.

"Now do you believe me?" Lestrade asked, turning to him, "Be careful, though: I suspect she's also not 'altogether there'."

* * *

"Now, who's the CCTV operator here..?" Sherlock muttered, looking about.

"That would be me," a voice from behind him said. It was, indeed, the CCTV operator.

Sherlock turned about and looked to him,

"And who are you?" He asked.

"My name's O'Neal. Jeffery O'Neal. I suppose you're Sherlock Holmes, the Great Detective? Want to see the CCTV recordings?"

"Yes, thank you," Sherlock nodded, "Lead the way."

Sherlock had decided that this… thing, whatever it was, was definitely not human. Or anything close, for that matter. There was something in its gait that made it seem... inhuman. Maybe something in its face, too: it seemed to be wearing a balaclava, but one that was covered in hair that hung down to its chest like a long beard. The only part of its face that wasn't black and hairy was its eyes, which were shining with a strange white glow.

O'Neal told him that the creature would disappear behind a shipping container for hours on end before exiting the dock. There was no security camera that pointed behind that particular container, and when the creature had left, some police officers had looked behind it, but seen nothing interesting. Sherlock doubted that they'd looked hard enough: people never did.

"Can I take a look?" He asked.

"I don't see why not," O'Neal hummed, "I'll open the gates."

* * *

"Come along, Hummingbird!" Sherlock called to Clara as he walked past her.

"Sorry, Sally, I have to go. I'll see you sometime, though," Clara smiled to Sally Donovan before waving and bounding over to Sherlock, her coat flowing behind her.

Sally had rather enjoyed her conversation and had been converted from thinking that The Hummingbird was a myth to believing her legitimacy. After Clara had 'died' last time she was around here in the Alternate Universe, nobody had bothered tracking her down and she had become a myth, no more than a trick by the media. Hardly anybody believed she was real, apart from John, Sherlock, Lestrade and now Donovan and Anderson.

Now Clara followed Sherlock into the dock, springing along behind him.

She dreaded getting lost in-amongst the thousands of containers, even though she could easily fly out again, but the machinery was still running and flying up was a really bad idea.

Sherlock seemed to know where he was going, though. It was like he'd memorised a map of the place (thinking about it, he probably had).

Just as it seemed they weren't getting anywhere, Sherlock turned to the left and stepped behind a big, red container. There were the same prints in the ground where the duo stood: the prints were odd… one was like a clawed paw and the other was more-or-less just a circle.

"What's so special about this one?" Clara asked, referring to the shipping container.

"The creature keeps disappearing behind it," Sherlock replied. His explanation was very vague.

Clara could just imagine little words popping up as he looked around, even though of course she knew that was impossible and it was only video editing.

"Numbers," Sherlock said, suddenly.

"What?"

"Numbers on the side of the container. They must mean something…" and he knelt down to further inspect the numbers he'd found. They looked like some sort of maths problem. It read:

'F+F = cm + cm ÷ ='

And underneath it were four lines of numbers, with the last line consisting of 0, 'enter' and '.'.

"A lock?" Clara suggested.

"Seems so," Sherlock shrugged.

"Definitely something going on down here, isn't there? Cm probably stands for centimetres, maybe F is feet."

"Good thinking: maybe two things need measuring in feet, converted to centimetres and then divided by each other. It's just what needs measuring that's the question."

"The crate?"

"Bit obvious, isn't it?"

"Hiding in plain sight."

Sherlock paused,

"Maybe…" he hummed, "Well, whatever the case, we're going to have to come back with a tape measure. We should head back home, anyway, and I need some samples of some dirt analysing, anyway: we ought to head home."

And so they headed out of London Gateway, telling Lestrade to gather some dirt samples as they went, and headed back to 221B Baker Street for a nice, British cup of tea.


	7. Chapter 7 - The Love Triangle

Chapter 7

"He likes you, you know: you should be complimented. He doesn't like many people."

"I am…" Clara sighed, biting her nails.

She was sat opposite John, at the dining table, half watching Sherlock read and half talking to Watson. Sherlock didn't like to be disturbed whilst he was reading, so he had found some earplugs and was now wearing them, so John and Clara could talk in peace without Sherlock butting in with random, useless facts about cigarette ash.

"I thought you liked him, too?" John continued, even though he could see that his Hummingbird friend seemed a bit on edge.

"I…" Clara started, sighing, "I _do._ I just… have somebody else, that's all. And I really wouldn't want to complicate things with Molly Hooper and all…"

"Well then, if he asks, tell Sherlock you're not interested."

"I _can't,_ though…"

"Why not?"

"I can't lie…"

John was quiet for a bit, thinking.

He didn't say anything for a good five minutes before he clapped his hands on the table and stated,

"You, my friend, have gotten yourself into a rather unfortunate love triangle."

"I knnooowwwww," Clara groaned, "Does he even like me that much anyway?"

"He does. I know he does from the way he treats you: like you're something more than just an average woman. And think about it: you're clever, kind, seem to know everything about everyone and your mannerisms are just like his – you'd make a perfect pair."

Clara shrugged, lifted her chin off her knees and thought.

She should be out on her own adventures right now, having fun, not sitting with a fictional character, debating who she fancied more.

Thankfully, she didn't need to break the awkward silence, as right then, a knock at the door sounded.

"Come in!" John called.

Lestrade entered, holding a cardboard box in his hands, a blank expression on his face. He looked exhausted.

"I've brought those samples you wanted, Sherlock," he said, turning to Sherlock, sat on an armchair, almost buried in books.

"He's got his earplugs in, he can't hear you," Clara mumbled.

"Well, when you get the chance, tell him that we'll be waiting for him to report back to us and tell us what to do."

"Will do."

Out of the blue, a very high-pitched screech filled the air, not unlike the others, yelling 'he knew', the same as the rest. No doubt somebody had been murdered…

"I'd love to stay and talk, Hummingbird, I really would," Lestrade sighed, "But I think that's my signal to leave. I'll be seeing you later. You, too, John."

"See you," Clara yawned.

"Bye," John said as Lestrade stepped out of the door without another word.

Nobody spoke for a while: Sherlock read, John checked his emails and Clara hid her face in her knees, still in deep thought. She was just… bored, fed up, _confused_ even – everything had happened so fast. It only seemed like yesterday when she was living on the Trap Street with Ashildr, and now she was on her own… very alone… in the Alternate Universe, trying to solve a mystery, and all she really wanted was a hug from The Doctor.

"I'm going down to 221C," she coughed, eventually, stepping down from her chair and giving John a pat on the shoulder before leaving the flat.

"Laters!" Sherlock called to her, still not taking his eyes of his book.

Clara smiled to herself, closing the door behind her.

* * *

"What's that sound?" Mrs Hudson asked, confused, "Sounds like singing…"

"It is," John replied, "It's Clara: she says she likes singing."

"Ah," Mrs Hudson nodded, handing John a cup of tea.

"I've analysed everything: think this is our killer," Sherlock said, standing up from his work desk at last and brushing his hands off.

"Good," John hummed, "Lestrade said to report back to him when you've done."

"Is that… Clara _singing_?"

"It is, indeed."

Sherlock attempted to identify the song and could only just make out a few words. Sounded like the Sound of Silence, only less… silent.

"Well, I'm going to have to interrupt her," he said, placing the dirt samples back into the box and picking it up before heading down to the basement flat.

Neither Mrs Hudson nor John had any idea when he'd be back.

He paused outside the door to 221C – the door of which Clara had left unlocked as usual – and listened;

"'Fools,' said I, 'you do not know, silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you, take my arms that I might reach you,' but my words, like silent raindrops fell… echoed the wells of silence-"

That was The Hummingbird. She was enjoying herself immensely. It wasn't the original song, but a cover by another band, that seemed to have more of a rock element to it: more upbeat, and certainly louder.

Using the box to prop the door open, Sherlock poked his head into the room to see his friend, spinning about with her arms spread wide, singing her heart out.

"And the people bowed and prayed," Clara chirped, "To the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning, in the words that it was forming, and the sign said 'the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls… and tenement halls…' echoed the sound… of silenccceeee!"

Her last spin left The Hummingbird facing Sherlock, the grin on her face falling,

"Oh…" she coughed, reddening, "How long have you been stood there?"

"Approximately two minutes," Sherlock replied, "Two minutes that I quite enjoyed, in fact: well done. _Very_ well done…"

Clara smiled, shyly,

"Thanks," she grinned, "…Anyway, is there a reason you came to see me? Or did you just want to watch me sing?"

"No, no, there's a reason. We need to go and see Lestrade."

"Find something interesting in that dirt?"

"Yes, _kind of_ …" Sherlock mumbled.

"Kind of?"

"Well… There's everything there that I expected, but there's one more substance I can't identify… I've tried everything but nothing matches up."

"Can I take a look?" Clara asked, picking up her coat from the floor and taking the sonic screwdriver from the pocket. Sherlock eyed her a bit oddly, but handed her the box none-the-less. The Hummingbird scanned the dirt in the petri dishes and listened to the whirring before frowning,

"So my suspicions were correct…" she murmured, and then looked up to Sherlock, "Grab a tape measure and forget Lestrade: we're heading to London Gateway."

* * *

The Hummingbird and Sherlock didn't have to go to Lestrade, anyway: is team of forensic scientists were still there, dusting fingerprints and looking about. Sally Donovan was still there, too, but no sign of Lestrade.

After looking about, Clara (who had the petri dishes of dirt stuffed into her pockets) jogged up to Sally with a serious expression on her face,

"Tell Lestrade to call Sherlock and ask him to pass the phone over to me: I need to speak with him. Tell him The Hummingbird says that she's analysed the dirt and it's not good," she said.

"Yes, of course, Hummingbird," Sally nodded.

"Call me Clara," Clara coughed.

As she turned to the side, she saw an all-too-familiar face quite a way off, but she'd know that face anywhere. She frowned, told Sally that she had to dash off and edged a little bit further away from the figure, trying not to be seen.

"IS IT REALLY YOU?" The figure called after her, though.

Clara sighed,

"Lucas…" she breathed, before turning around and clearing her throat, "Yes – yes: it's me."

"Haven't seen you in ages!" Lucas shouted to her, happily, "How have you been?"

"I'm OK. But look, Lucas, I'm a bit busy right now, could you _not_ interrupt me? Thanks!" Clara called before dashing off. She was sure that nobody would let Lucas follow her. She bounded over to Sherlock and they headed into London Gateway.

* * *

The Sonic Screwdriver didn't work on the lock on the side of the shipping container, try as Clara might, but she had somewhat expected that, and that's why she had told Sherlock to bring the tape measure. The tape measure was being put to good use, in fact: both she and Sherlock were stood at either side of the container, the tape stretched between them.

"6 feet by 10 feet!" Clara shouted across to Sherlock, "What's that in centimetres?"

"183 by 305," Sherlock replied.

"Divided by each other?"

"1.6."

"Let's try it."

And they both hopped down to the keypad, typing in the digits.

There was an odd whirring and a clicking and both The Hummingbird and the Great Detective looked around to see what was happening and saw that the end of the container had opened. Strange…

They peered into the container and saw, inside, a tiny trapdoor in the ground.

Opening it, Sherlock saw a ladder leading down underground.

"Should we head down?" He suggested.

"Definitely!" Clara grinned, appearing to be about as excited as Isaac Newton must have been when he discovered gravity. She darted down the ladder as quick as could be, Sherlock following close behind…


	8. Chapter 8 - Locks

Chapter 8

Clara hated underground passageways: they never signalled anything good. They were dark and foreboding, and even though Clara liked the adrenaline of the fear, she wasn't too keen on the ominous lighting.

She trotted along beside Sherlock, feeling very disoriented, as the hall didn't seem to end it felt like she was wandering into an incessant void. Her footsteps echoing, Clara turned to Sherlock and sighed,

"How much longer do you think this'll go on for?" She asked.

"Not long, I shouldn't think…" Sherlock replied, squinting into the distance and seeing that the hall turned to the right in a few more paces. He was right, too – when the duo rounded the corner, they were met with a huge wooden door with another number pad beside it. Except this number pad had, not numbers, but mathematical symbols: pi, phi, infinity and sigma.

"Well, how are we supposed to work this out?" Clara frowned. She had never been good with maths, and she had no _clue_ what sigma was, only that it looked like a weird E.

"Connect the dots, Clara," Sherlock replied, "You see that one that looks like an odd P? That's Phi. Phi is the golden ratio – what's the golden ratio, Clara?"  
Before Clara could answer, Sherlock continued with,

"It's 1.6. 1.6 was the answer to the last code, remember? So clearly phi is the answer to unlocking the door."

Clara sighed, witheringly, and pressed the button for phi. Of course, as expected, it opened the door and both she and Sherlock were able to continue their exploration of the endless tunnel. Soon, though, they came across yet another lock.

Sherlock smiled to himself, seeing the drained expression on Clara's face as she rested her forehead on the door.

Around the room that they were in, in the walls, were strange circular holes, about the size of the hole in a doughnut. Going closer and peering inside, Sherlock saw that there were sharp, metal objects inside the holes, and a terrible smell was emanating from them. Sherlock recognised this smell instantly as nothing other than poison.

"Whatever you do," he warned, "Don't press any buttons."

"Why?" Clara asked, confused and concerned, looking behind her, to Sherlock.

"There seems to be arrows set to fire from the walls. If you press the wrong thing, there is a chance that we will die."

Clara blinked, slowly, flicking her eyes back to the numbers on the lock: 10, 12 and 18. How were they supposed to figure this one out? She frowned in thought and bit her lip before suddenly looking up and exclaiming,

"I've got it!" She chirped, "Count the arrow dispensers!"

Sherlock set about counting them and then turned to her a moment later when he was done,

"Ten," He replied, simply.

Clara gingerly pressed the number ten and waited for the door to open… but it didn't.

"Get down!" Sherlock yelled, vaulting to the floor and keeping himself as flat as possible. Clara did the same, but she was half a second slow and an arrow clipped the back of her leg, making a ladder in her tights and making her wince as it scratched her skin.

"One didn't hit you, did it?" Sherlock asked her, sounding ever so faintly concerned.

Clara couldn't help but be slightly confused at his sudden kindness,

"Only slightly. Why?"

"They're poisoned. But as long as it didn't actually go in, you _should_ be OK…" Sherlock replied, standing up and giving her a hand up.

Clara was about to open her mouth to speak, but before she could, the door behind her started to open…

"It was a trap…" she mumbled, "Whatever you press, it'll still open fire…"

Sherlock nodded,

"Indeed. I hope there's no more of them."

There were not, fortunately, any more locks to figure out: there was just a long hallway leading to a huge double door the size of an elephant. It was a very extravagant door, too – old oak with gold embellishments around it. The handles were solid silver with etchings of snakes chiselled into them, and the wood creaked, loudly, as Sherlock pushed open the grand doors to see what was inside…

"Woah..!"

"Well… this is hardly good…"


	9. Chapter 9 - To Kill A Hummingbird

Chapter 9

Cages.

There were cages everywhere.

Cages with monsters of all shapes, sizes and colours locked within, roaring, hissing and howling in distress.

Sherlock, for once, was speechless.

 _"What's going on here...?"_ Clara gasped, staring into one of the cages that seemed to contain what looked like a huge, malnourished, bald dog, but when it looked up, Clara could see it had the face of a man with no hair or nose. It gurgled at her and she backed away, quickly.

At the end of the room, there was a moderately sized iron door with a small slit in it.

Her curiosity once again getting the better of her, Clara slunk closer and peered inside… and saw nothing. Confused, she laid her hand on the door handle and found that it was unlocked. This fact worried her, as on the walls of the cell were scratch marks from something that seemed to have very long claws, and holes and dents from a knife or an iron bar… or a scythe.

Frowning, Clara saw a yellow caution sign on the wall next to her and read it: ' _WARNING: do not open this door. Dangerous monster within'._

Clara swallowed, nervously.

Whatever was in that cell certainly wasn't there now – it was probably out carrying out murder somewhere.

"Our killer is a monster?" Sherlock asked, suddenly appearing behind The Hummingbird.

"Certainly… as I suspected…"

"Well done, you!" A voice laughed from above the duo, "I knew you'd figure it out eventually… How are you going to explain _this_ to everybody, hmm?"

Sherlock and Clara both recognised the voice instantly, and it didn't put either of them in a good mood.

"You have some explaining to do, too, don't you…" Clara growled, "…Moriarty?"

Sherlock looked up to see Mr James Moriarty standing, arms folded, on a mezzanine floor that neither he nor Clara had before noticed. The criminal genius looked down to him and his companion and grinned, manically.

"Nobody is going to believe you…" he smirked, completely ignoring Clara.

"Tell me what's going on…" Sherlock ordered.

"Even you wouldn't believe me," Moriarty replied, his smile fading.

"Perhaps not," Clara huffed, spinning round to look to him, "But _I_ certainly will – fire away!"

"Oooh! Who's your girlfriend, Holmes?" Moriarty laughed.

"My name is The Hummingbird," Clara replied, "You may have heard of me?"

But this only caused Moriarty to laugh louder,

"The legend of The Hummingbird, you say?" He sniggered, "It's all nonsense: lies. Sherlock seems to believe it, though… I say he's in on it. I suppose you're that woman who jumped off the side of that building a few months ago? Suppose Sherlock told you to do that, he's done something similar. Good job faking those wings."

"You have no _idea_ …" The Hummingbird smirked, "Just how wrong you are…"

"She can prove her legitimacy," Sherlock warned, "If you'd ask her to."

"Go ahead, 'Hummingbird'!"

So Clara slipped her coat off and spread her wings and showed her wingspan. Not many people got to see her pride and joy, as she usually kept them tucked away inside her long coat. She shook them to rid them of any loose feathers and gave them a few beats to flutter up to speak to Moriarty, face to face.

"If you still don't believe me," she snapped, "I can tell you things only The Hummingbird would know. Such as how you once went by the name of Richard Brook, how you etched 'IOU' into an apple before impaling it with a stick and giving it to Sherlock. And your ringtone? Stayin' Alive by The Beegees."

"Sherlock could have told you all that."

"Yet I didn't," Sherlock said, all of a sudden appearing on the mezzanine next to them (somehow he had discovered the stairs), holding Clara's coat.

The Hummingbird landed and took it from him, slipping it on and sticking her hands in her pockets,

"I know precisely how you stole the crown jewels and what your last meal was," and she took the sonic screwdriver from her pocket to scan Moriarty, "Full roast dinner? You've been treating yourself!"

"What on Earth is that thing?" Moriarty asked, staring at the screwdriver.

"Fancy piece of alien technology," Clara replied, "Can open almost any door, identify alien life-forms and, amongst other things, put up cabinets in record timing. Believe me now?"

"I suppose I'll have to…" Moriarty sighed.

"Now tell me, Jimmy: who's helping you?"

"How do you mean?"

"There's two Ms. One stands for Moriarty, yes? What's the other stand for?"

Moriarty smiled, cunningly,

"You can come here now!" He called into the hallway to his left. Footsteps came soon after, echoing through the corridor, and Clara spun around to see an all-too-familiar face…

"…Missy..!" She sneered, "I had a funny feeling that you' be involved somewhere…"

"Hello, poppet!" Missy grinned, waving at her.

Clara growled, deeply, the sound emanating from the back of her throat, before she snapped,

"Tell me! Tell me what this is all about!"

"A contract," Missy replied, simply, "Between myself, Mr Moriarty and a certain Jeffery O'Neal."

"The CCTV operator? He's in on it, too?" Sherlock asked, confused.

"O'Neal isn't as clueless as he seemed to you. Neither is he as human. In fact, he's not human at all: he's a Zygon."

"Zygon?" Clara exclaimed, "What's he doing _here_?"

"He was an outcast on his planet and so he decided to get together all of the monsters he could find and get revenge on the ones who disowned him. But on his way to Klesla 7, his ship crashed and he ended up here. He'd brought loads of technology with him so he was able to wipe the memories of everyone in London so they wouldn't remember the crash. Then he decided to, instead of fixing his ship, tunnel out of here and make his monsters available to hire to destroy anybody you happened to want dead."

"Assassins…"

"Exactly! So Moriarty hired one, nothing more."

"Why would you hire an killer?" Sherlock frowned at Moriarty, "So you could watch me 'dance'? Watch me figure it out?"

"Precisely. Thought it would be an interesting case for you, too. And it was, wasn't it? You liked it, I know you did. Do you not appreciate it?" Moriarty asked.

"What's the catch?"

"Well, you know… the monster's next victims are you and your lady friend…"

"I thought as much.."

"And what place do you have in all of this?" Clara ordered to know, turning back to Missy.

"In return of the monster, I promised O'Neal I would fix his ship. Thing is, I don't really have the means to… But I do know that if there were Zygons involved, it would attract the attention of either you or The Doctor, and you can fix the ship. See? Everybody wins! Except, of course, you and Sherlock…" Missy replied, smirking.

Clara huffed,

"What kind of killer is this monster, anyway?" She asked.

"He's called an Eeuu," Moriarty explained, "When you hear his call, you have ten seconds to hide before he comes to kill you. It's his little game of hide and seek. He's quite a fearsome creature, too, I must say – the best of O'Neal's collection – he has a scythe on one hand and sharp claws on the other. He'll write on your grave and thank you for dinner."

"That's rather ambitious of him," The Hummingbird mused aloud, folding her arms.

"We knew you two would turn up eventually," Missy continued, "So now you're here, we might as well make the most of it… and finally destroy Sherlock Holmes for good."

"And now The Hummingbird, too!" Moriarty sniggered, "You could say we're killing two birds with one stone."

Missy laughed at his little joke, but her smile soon fell when she heard lumbering footsteps…

"He's here…"


	10. Chapter 10 - An Explanation

Chapter 10

"Eeuu!" The Eeuu screamed, charging toward Sherlock like a formula 4 racing car.

For once in his life, Sherlock had no idea what to do, but he still covered it up quite well, as he always covered up anything he was feeling.

Clara was frozen in place, too, a not quite confused but definitely pondering expression on her face. It would have come across to other people as an air of carelessness about the impending doom of her friend, but rather it was a look of decision-making.

She had two options here: order the Eeuu to stop, in its own language, but risk looking stupid, or resort to aggression and wrestle the oversized monster of a creature to the floor.

Thankfully, though, before she had to make her choice, Missy held up her hand to tell the monster to stop whilst she spoke.

Clara was glad that she didn't have to jump atop the Eeuu, as now it was closer, she could make out more of its features. It certainly wasn't a creature to be messed with: it bore two huge antlers on top of its hairy head, which was covered in black fur that reached down to its shoulders where the dark brown hair began. The monster's back was arched to the point where if it stuck its tongue out, it would most probably touch the floor… that'd be if it actually had a tongue: it didn't seem to have a mouth, but it was probably just covered up by the long, black hair.

The Eeuu had a sort of belt around its waist, with a pocket at the front that – Clara could just about see – contained a good many sparkly objects that looked suspiciously like diamonds. As Moriarty had said, one hand had six sharp claws on five fingers and what looked like a thumb, and the other hand wasn't even a hand at all: it was a bloodstained scythe, protruding from the creature's wrist.

Clara would have known even if Moriarty and Missy hadn't explained, that this was the killer. The Eeuu even had feet that matched the odd footprints found around the Gateway: one foot with two claws at the back and one and the front, and one leg that was only a peg leg. A long, spined tail ran behind the Eeuu, whipping back and forth like a cat's tail, making a horrid scraping sound on the stone floor as it sat there, hunched over, awaiting its next command.

Yet, Missy gave it no further command, only looked across to Clara, expecting her to step in and say something witty as her last words.

The Hummingbird frowned and stepped forward to address the Eeuu, looking down to it with eyes that were void of any emotion.

Even though she knew that she had found the murderer, she still had a few questions to ask.

"Who taught you to write in circular Gallifreyan?" She asked, her voice, too, not containing any sentiment.

The Eeuu looked back up to her, silently. To it, because of the TARDIS translator, Clara had just spoken to it in its own language. Even though its empty eyes didn't show it, it was certainly surprised.

It spoke back to her in a series of grunts and clicks, but Clara could translate it, and only she and Missy could hear what it was really saying.

"Missy did?" Clara repeated, raising an eyebrow before turning to face Missy for a second and then looking back, "And I'm expecting that the Ms stand for Missy and Moriarty?"

The Eeuu nodded his shaggy head.

"Very good… now, last question: why did those people all have to die? What did they do wrong to deserve it?"

The monster didn't say anything at first, just gazed, blankly, and blinked at Clara before he spoke again.

Moriarty watched this exchange, fixatedly,

"How does it understand her? It understood you, too…"

"Translator," Missy replied, "Lets us speak any language in the universe. Just be quiet and listen…"

"You… don't know?" Was what they heard Clara say when they turned back to her, "Then why did you kill them? For entertainment? Some sort of sick _joke_?"

Her face was no longer expressionless; it bore a look of disgust and disapproval.

The Eeuu saw this and replied as swiftly as it could.

"Moriarty told you to go into the house of every rich person… and slaughter them?" Clara huffed, censoriously.

"The Eeuu collects shiny objects," Moriarty butted in, "In return for working for us, I promised that whatever jewels or expensive things he could find, he could keep. The more money the person had, the more expensive the jewellery: it was the perfect plan!"

The Hummingbird scowled,

"Murder _and_ theft?" She frowned, "Anything else I should know about?"

"I don't believe so…"

"Good…"

"So," Sherlock coughed, speaking up at last, "Where _is_ O'Neal now?"

"Standing right beneath you," a gurgling voice called from below. It was, of course, Jeffery O'Neal, in his true, sucker-covered form. He stared up with his beady eyes at the five people (including the Eeuu) hanging about on his mezzanine.

"You're our hidden killer, then?" Sherlock said, thoughtfully, looking rather disgusted at the alien standing before him, "I'm Sherlock Holmes, horrible to meet you."

The Zygon snarled,

"I'm Dimitri. I see you've met my Eeuu, Holmes. The Time Lady said you'd come soon with your accomplice, The Hummingbird, who can repair my ship… she's so much prettier than how the Mistress described her.

Clara turned away so she could gag.

"You fix my ship, Hummingbird," Dimitri ordered, "Or your friend – Mr Holmes – will die."

"What's in it for me?" Clara frowned, still not making any eye contact.

"The life of your friends, that's what," Dimitri hissed, "And I'll spare _your_ life, too."

"I do not require sparing," Clara said, turning around.

"Do as I requested."

"Under one condition."  
"What is it?"

"That you send those innocent creatures back to the homes that you ever-so-selfishly took them away from."

"Why would I do that? They're my employees now, they're staying with me," Dimitri stubbornly replied.

"Then no repair for you," Clara said, adamantly, folding her arms.

There was an awkward silence between everybody before the Zygon ordered his Eeuu to kill The Hummingbird; so the monster picked her up by the collar with its scythed hand and held her over the side of the mezzanine handrail, ready to throw her of the side to break her spine.

At Dimitri's order, the Eeuu tossed The Hummingbird over the rails, but, of course, Clara only gave her wings a beat and hovered in the air with her arms still folded and a smug expression on her face,

"Nice try, mate," she sniggered, "But it takes more than that to destroy The Hummingbird."

"Fine…" Dimitri sighed eventually, "I'll return the monsters. Just fix my ship."  
Clara pondered this before smiling,

"Gladly. Lead the way."


	11. Chapter 11 - The End of Dimitri

Chapter 11

The Hummingbird yawned, stretched and brushed her hands off. She was feeling rather proud of herself: she'd managed to fix something – Dimitri's ship. There wasn't even much wrong with it: only a few faulty wires. It was a small ship and Clara suspected that Dimitri must have stolen it, as it was rather beaten-up.

Now she was finished, she had proved her worth to Missy as a time-traveller. Then she could go back to Baker Street with Sherlock and have a nice cup of tea.

But before she could get out of the crumbling room that Dimitri's ship had crashed in, who should appear before her but the Zygon himself: Dimitri.

"Is it fixed?" He demanded to know.

"Certainly is," Clara nodded.

"Good…" the Zygon smirked as if he knew some secret or other that Clara didn't know. In fact, it was because he had a plan – a trick up his sleeve – because he had a contract and he needed to keep his end of the bargain.

Four monsters appeared behind Clara, two taking hold of her arms and two of her wings.

"What are you doing?" She asked, calmly, though inside she wasn't as calm as she came across as, feeling the creatures' grips tightening. When she turned her head around, she saw that the four aliens were all Zoranians: trained soldiers from the planet Zorad who would destroy anyone or anything hat stood in their way.

Fortunately, The Hummingbird knew exactly how to get out of the situation: Zoranian soldiers would only obey anyone who paid them… or anyone who survived them, and Clara had certainly endured them before.

"Once I get rid of you," Dimitri sneered, "I can keep my monsters and go home. How could you be so stupid? My soldiers will destroy you in the blink of an eye, then they will kill your friend, Mr Holmes, and he will no longer be here to foil the plans of James Moriarty," and he sniggered, "Any last words?"

"Yeah, in fact," Clara smiled. She, too, had a plan of her own. She turned to the soldiers restraining her and cleared her throat, "Remember me?"

The aliens shook their heads.

"I'm Clara Oswald and I just so happen to be the one who destroyed your army base when you were all trying to convert the people of Chilima into more soldiers by raining down fumes onto their planet… and you killed my pet dragon, which I do not appreciate in the slightest."

The soldiers' grips loosened as they realised that whom they knew as the Dragon Whisperer was not, in fact, dead as they supposed her to be. They and the other Zoranians back on Zorad had supposed her to have died in the rain of fire, but of course they could never be sure, so they had always been warned of the return of the Dragon Whisperer, come to avenge the death of her dragons.

"They were a lot of last words," Dimitri observed, and was about to order the soldiers to kill before Clara cut him off,

"They weren't my last," she said, sharply, "Release me."

As she ordered, the Zoranians let her go.

Dimitri stood, confused and angry, as his monsters stood back from his victim,

"What is this nonsense?" He questioned.

"Attention!"

The soldiers stood to attention, afraid of what their most feared enemy may well do to them; who knew if she might have dragons hidden away somewhere, ready to jump out and burn them with their fiery breath.

"Now, men," Clara started, "Neither I nor my friend want this Zygon to capture any more innocent monsters, you hear me? Now, what do we do with people we don't like?"

"Destroy, ma'am!" The Zoranians chorused.

"Very good. But don't kill him just yet, alright? Hold him down whilst I speak to him."

"Yes, ma'am!"

And all four of them restrained Dimitri as The Hummingbird called for the Eeuu, who came bounding down the hallway a second later.

"Eeuu," Clara coughed, "Stay alert and if Dimitri tries to escape, catch him," and she strolled up to the Zygon, giving him her eyes of ice (it was a talent, the way she could look at people and make them afraid), "How..? How could you possibly believe you could ever get away with this? You've destroyed the lives of, not monsters, but innocent alien races, and you think you can just waltz out of the consequences? Well, you didn't take Sherlock or me into equation, did you? Don't underestimate the lengths I will go to to make you listen to me. It is your choice to make: go home alone or I order the Eeuu to attack."

Of course, she'd never willingly kill _anybody_ , even Dimitri, but giving false threats is sometimes your only option if you want to get something done.

"I will not leave without my monsters," Dimitri snapped back, angrily, orange spit spraying from his mouth as he did.

"Very well, then. Eeuu, you know what to do with him…"

The Eeuu marched up to Dimitri and raised his scythed hand to plunge into his enemy. He, unlike Clara, would gladly kill the one who forced him to come all the way here on a rickety old ship (that didn't feel safe at all), and then ordered him about.

"No, no, wait!" The Zygon yelled, a split-second before his imminent doom, "Look, I'll leave, just don't kill me!"

The Hummingbird hurriedly commanded the Eeuu to stop, holding up her hand, glad that she didn't have to see the insides of a sucker-covered, orange monster spill out all over the floor and probably onto her shoes.

"Are you being honest with me this time?" Clara asked, sternly.

Dimitri nodded, heartily.

Clara could read his face and see that he was sincere this time. She bit her lip and sighed before lowering her hand.

"Eeuu, let him go," she ordered.

The Eeuu picked up his victim and tossed him towards the ship. Dimitri hurried off, anxious for his life, and disappeared into the ship, that then slowly dematerialised into thin air.

Clara smirked – she had made sure, when she had fixed the ship, to drain most of the fuel so that there would only be enough to make one last trip… Dimitri wouldn't be capturing any monsters any time soon.

Clearing her throat, The Hummingbird turned to her Eeuu and smiled,

"Don't think we'll be seeing much of him anymore…" she mused, "Good work, all of you. Don't worry, I have a friend who can take you all back to where you came from."

But the Eeuu only shook his head.

"You don't want to go home?" Clara asked, surprised, looking up at him, "Very well, then, I suppose. You can stay down here. Just… don't kill anybody, OK? And if you do, I'll be back."

The Eeuu nodded, a strangely creepy but happy smile spreading across its face, literally from ear to ear. Clara was more surprised that the creature had a mouth than she was at learning that it wanted to stay here on Earth.

She smiled back and turned to the Zoranians,

"As for you four, you can follow me."

* * *

"Oh, you're back!" Sherlock called when The Hummingbird entered the room. He was currently locked inside one of the cages, looking rather bored, his back to the floor and legs to the wall.

Clara couldn't help but snigger to herself when she saw him. She cracked her back and took the sonic from her pocket before flipping it and unlocking the cage as she walked by.

"What happened then?" Missy asked as the four Zoranians trooped out of the hall and into the room, "Did he just leave as promised?"

"Wasn't quite that simple," Clara sighed, stretching, "I'll tell you about it in a minute, I just have to make a call," and she disappeared behind the huge door to the underground passage leading back up to London Gateway.

"Evening, Doctor!" She smiled, leaning on the wall, "I have to be quick, OK? Just have to as a favour."

"Right..? What's the matter?" The Doctor asked, sounding slightly concerned.

"I've got about maybe… 13 captured aliens, all sitting about in cages. I really need them taking back to their home planets, they're getting really angry… thought I'd ask you, seeing as you have a TARDIS and all. That's if you're not busy, of course?"

"No problem. Just one question: why-"

"Ask questions when you get here, love, I'll see you in a bit. You can track me from my vortex manipulator, right?"

"Yeeessss…"

"Great! See you soon!" Clara chirped, then she hung up.

She slipped her phone back into her pocket just in time as she heard Missy yell 'get off!' from the other room. She smiled and trotted into the room to see the soldiers restraining both Missy and Moriarty.

"I think you know what I'm going to say to you two, don't you?" She coughed, her smile fading into a frown. She looked to the soldiers and then back down to 'M and M', who were, inside, quite worried, but they disguised it rather well.

This was Clara's one chance to destroy both her and Sherlock's enemies – she'd probably never have this opportunity before, and she certainly didn't want to get it wrong, so she cleared her throat and saw Missy close her eyes as she waited the inevitable command for her to be killed.

There was silence.

The two criminals looked back up to The Hummingbird and saw that her frown remained.

"I'll forgive you," she said, "On one condition."

"What?" Moriarty asked, almost surprised.

"…That you help me round up all these monsters," Clara smiled, sheepishly, "Now come on!"


	12. Chapter 12 - Everybody Lives

Chapter 12

Sherlock sipped his tea and looked across to John, who was currently staring own at his laptop.

The Hummingbird hadn't left yet, she was downstairs, biding her goodbyes to The Doctor before he went off on his own adventures… alone.

After Moriarty and Missy had helped out rounding up all of Dimitri's monster parade, Sherlock, John and Clara had headed back to 221B Baker Street, completely ignoring Lestrade's team as they strolled from London Gateway.

One thing, though, had confused Sherlock – and he wasn't one to be confused.

'You could have just killed them!' He had exclaimed to Clara.

Clara had just smiled at him and replied, simply,

"I could have, but I didn't. That's my motto, you could say. After all, forgiveness is a talent…"

A good standard to live by, Sherlock thought, drinking more tea. It fascinated him how somebody could have so much power, being able to destroy galaxies and universes, and still keenly decide never to harm a soul. It wasn't only that which intrigued him about The Hummingbird: it was everything about her, really: her and her time-travelling adventures with a blue police box and a sonic screwdriver. Sherlock only wished she could stay longer so he could ask her more questions – find out more about her.

After a while, though, he heard Clara bounding up the stairs (he cold tell it was her from her distinctive footsteps), and he was correct, as she appeared in the doorway a second later, poking her head into the room with an awkward grin on her face,

"Hey, Sherlock, John," she chirped, "I'm… I'm leaving now."

"Ah, yes, you are, aren't you? Well, before you go, I'd like to ask you something," Sherlock started, clearing his throat.

"Fire away!"

"You wouldn't care to go out for a coffee next week, would you?" He asked, awkwardly.

John slowly lifted his head to look over the top of his laptop at his friends' uncomfortable exchange.

Clara sniggered,

"What, like a _date_?" She asked, smirking.

"Well, yes, I mean- no, no, NO: I mean… I mean no: just coffee, in a café, completely platonically-"

Clara carried on sniggering to herself before she gave both John and Sherlock a quick hug, tipping her hat to them,

"I'll be seeing you both later," she smiled before skipping over to the door and giving one last glance over to Sherlock, "Coffee, next week – deal!"

And without another word, she was gone.

The End


End file.
